Page 35 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

“Give me your phone.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell, unlocking the screen. Vance starts entering a number.

“Call me. If you need anything, alright? Hawk made it clear; he wants us to take extra good care of you.”

“I can take care of myself for the most part,” I start. That might have been too bold, but Tank chuckles again. I sense an undercurrent of tension between them.

“We can take care of anything you need,” Tank whispers in my ear.

I wish he didn’t say that. I wish they weren’t surrounding me like and maybe I might be able to think straight, but instead my knees knock into one another. I think they might know how wound up they have me.

“Behave,” Vance clips out, handing me back my phone. “Both of you.” God. I shouldn’t like how direct he is. “Don’t make us track you down again,” Vance says. The look in his eyes is anything but playful. “You of all people should understand how this works. If you leave our property, you tell us where you’re going. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

I tuck my phone back into my pocket, and Vance lifts up my chin.

“You’re safe with us, but don’t make this fucking work, alright?”

I nod, but I don't believe it for a second.

“Come on, Izzy. Hawk wants to talk to you,” Vance says then. My nerves spike and my eyes widen.

Vance shakes his head, clicking his tongue as though I’ve upset him dearly.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re not inthatmuch trouble. He’s in the building to the right of the garage. Oh, and Izzy. I’ll take your bag for you.” He’s looking at my purse.

I absentmindedly squeezed the strap.

“Where?”

“I’m just going to set it up in the apartment.”

“Okay.” Reluctantly, I slide it off my shoulder, praying hard he doesn’t look inside and find the marinate doll leg.

9

IZZY

Iknock on the door that I can only guess is the right one.

If I was nervous before, I’m holding back from a panic attack.

I didn’t think I’d end up facing Hawk so soon after…well, the man’s seen my whole ass naked body. But sneaking into the Hellfire Riders was never a real ambition of mine. Oh, if my father or Reynolds could see me now.

It takes a moment, and I reach to knock again, but when I raise my hand, the heavy door creaks open and there he is, leaning a forearm against the door handle, no shirt and baggy worn jeans that hang on his hips.

He eyes me for a moment.

“There you are.”

“H-hey,” I manage. Jesus, my voice is shaky.

He steps back, motioning for me to enter. I walk past him, my heart pounding against my rib cage.

“Close the door,” he mutters.

I do as I’m told, my spine tingling from his hot stare.

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